


Better Crazy than Dead

by ThatwasJustaDream



Series: Thank you fics for the "Share your best of 2013" post on LJ's 1_million_words comm [14]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Community: 1_million_words, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:44:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatwasJustaDream/pseuds/ThatwasJustaDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack wandering the universe and in big trouble, sometime between “Children of Earth” and “Miracle Day”.  Written for the ‘Say What’ feature on the 1_million_words comm, to the quote/prompt:  "Laughing on the way to your execution is not generally understood by less advanced life-forms, and they'll call you crazy." ~ Richard Bach</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Crazy than Dead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sharpiesgal (TigerLily)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerLily/gifts), [Chokolatte (ChokolatteJedi)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChokolatteJedi/gifts).



“For a smart man, I can make the occasional really stupid decision,” Jack Harkness announced to the grey-green and distressingly scaly, helmeted creatures marching him into their amphitheater by his cuffed arms. “But I don’t make them twice so….. this is it: No more taking tips at bars on fast money and where to find it. Ever.”

Neither of the guards looked at him. Why would they? They didn’t speak any language he spoke, only a horrible, gargling collection of grunts, snarlfed barks and purring hisses that passed for conversation around here.

The lack of a joint language hadn’t been of concern to Jack on the way to Andromeda’s outer planet, HIP13044b. The plan was to get in there, grab a few suitcases full of the gold and platinum-laced sand on HIPbee’s largest beach and get the hell out again. Easy-peasy, he’d been assured. The native life forms have no clue what you’re taking or why they’d give a wet slap about it even if they did .

Unfortunately, the intel was outdated: The HIPbees had learned a thing or three lately about precious metals and their value to just about everyone else but them. Jack found himself face down on said beach in a matter of seconds, a couple of finned-feet heavy on his back and one of their high pressure water guns to his head.

Later, he learned that that:  
a- HIPbees liked to play rough - unfortunately not the kind of rough he kind of liked.  
b- While they had all the power and imagination you might find in a bottom feeding fish, they also possessed reflexes, muscle and tenacity to make a big cat cry with envy.

“I don’t suppose we can work out a sentence that involves community service instead of hanging?” Jack dug his feet in to try to slow things down, but the guards only lifted him like a feather and let him kick at thin air.

The march across the open stadium was a long one; Jack had lots of time to see there was no way out. Sentries were posted at every door, the stands packed with onlookers, the convicts in front of him being marched to the podium and executed one by one by one.

The robed HIPbees conducted a little tribute of some sort over each of the bodies afterward – it sounded like something between a solemn prayer and a rendition of ‘happy death day to you,’ maybe. Which was nice of them, but really it’d be nicer if they chose not to hang common, petty criminals over a thing they owned endless metric tons of. Wouldn’t it?

Jack did the math; He should come to again right about as the last notes of the tribute were dying in the breeze.  
It started him chuckling out loud.

“Oh God, this is going to be… so ugly….”

He could see it: Him rousing, jumping up, running for the doors with the guards in full pursuit; them dragging him back up the podium and hanging him again and again and…

“…it’s gonna look like a Stooges movie….” Jack was red and writhing with laughter. “…or a Lucy episode. I don’t suppose…you have a staff photographer who could….tape it…for me?” 

He was laughing so hard the guards had to pick him up and carry him like a giggling, sputtering, cackling log. He swore one of them made a sign around its left temple that suggested he thought maybe Jack was more than half-mad.

In the end it went just as he’d pictured: The crowd gasped a watery, gurgling shout of surprise the first time he took off – but by the sixth, it sounded like maybe they were kind of rooting for him. 

Eventually his captors seemed to figure out hanging wouldn't work. Fortunately, instead of looking for another way to kill him they deemed him insane and threw him in an asylum – which worked out great as HIPbee asylums were run by the inmates and nicer than any of the five star resorts he’d ever stayed in.

He’d find a way out eventually – he always did. Meantime there were nachos and drinks by the pool at five.


End file.
